Miss O'Brien Isn't Having a Good Day
by Fourteen Hundred Hours
Summary: O'Brien and Branson somehow swap places with Annie and Chris. Everyone tries to get home. Not to be taken seriously! Gene Hunt/ Sarah O'Brien...
1. Chapter 1

**This is dedicated to my friend Lavender and Hay, for giving me the odd thought that sparked this whole thing off. Gene Hunt and Miss O'Brien.**

**This story will be weird. The idea behind it is weird. If you wish to carry on reading, bare this in mind: this story is meant to be taken lightly! I'm writing this for a bit of fun, it should be read for a bit of fun too. The other option is to read this seriously, and end up confused and disturbed. You have been warned! **

Sarah O'Brien was not having the best of days. The family had gone out for the day, and had given most of the staff leave to have some free time. O'Brien was one of the few Mrs Hughes had decided should stay behind and hold fort. _And Thomas has upped and left too_, she thought irritably, _after all I've done for him he goes off and leaves me to die of boredom. _She took a drag on her cigarette. She needed someone to talk to, someone to complain to. She caught sight of Branson, sitting a short distance away from her, polishing some contraption off his car. _Perfect. _O'Brien stubbed out her cigarette and headed over.

. . . . .

"Alright, listen up you lot!" Gene Hunt yelled at his team. "I want Tyler and Ray to go round the back, and I'll take the front. Cartwright and Chris stay by the car."

"But guv…" Chris started, not wanting to miss any of the action.

"You do as I say! Move!" And Gene ran off with Sam and Ray, leaving Annie and Chris standing by the car.

"Why does he always do that?" Annie wondered. "We're part of his team- he should trust us more."

Chris didn't reply. He was staring off into the distance.

"Chris? Are you alright?"

"Annie, there's something over there. In that house. It's like it's glowing or something."

"It's probably nothing. Just leave it." Annie dismissed Chris' concerns.

"Maybe we should check it out."

"Chris, the guv said to stay by the car."

"There's nothing happening by the car. But something's happening in that house. I'm going." Chris headed off towards the house. Annie hesitated, then followed him.

. . . . .

"What are you doing?" Branson looked up. O'Brien was standing over him, no doubt looking for someone to complain to.

"Do you actually care of are you just bored?" He answered, looking back down and carrying on with his work. O'Brien took his dismissal as an invitation to sit down, and so she did.

"It's not right. I mean, I work longer and harder than that Daisy, and yet she gets the day off and I don't. And who's Mrs Hughes to decide who gets to go out and who doesn't. I see her and Mr Carson are going for a drink together; if that's not inappropriate I don't know what is."

Branson wasn't listening; he was staring at the garage. It seemed to be glowing.

"Are you even listening to me?" O'Brien demanded. She looked at what Branson was staring at. "Bloody hell."

"What's happened to my car!" Branson exclaimed, jumping to his feet.

"Your car?" O'Brien wasn't fazed. "That car belongs to his Lordship."

Yet again, Branson wasn't listening. He was heading towards the garage.

"Where do you think you're going!" O'Brien gathered her skirts and hurried after him.

. . . . .

"Chris, I don't like this." Annie and Chris had entered the house to find that it was completely empty, and pitch black.

"You're right, maybe we should go back." They turned, and tried to find their way back to the door. Suddenly Chris stumbled and fell over.

"Chris! Are you alright?" Annie asked, bending down and trying to help Chris up. She too lost her balance, and tried to stand back up. It was too late. She slowly felt herself losing consciousness, and soon she had blacked out.

. . . . .

"Turn the lights on." O'Brien said as she cautiously followed Branson into the garage.

"I can't find the light switch." He replied.

"You should know where it is- it's your garage!" O'Brien snapped.

"Well as you pointed out earlier it's not my garage is it?" Branson said tetchily.

"I'm leaving." O'Brien turned to leave, but tripped over.

"Are you alright?" Branson asked, searching for the fallen O'Brien. He crouched down, but immediately felt dizzy. Keeling over, he sank into unconsciousness.

. . . . .

"Annie?" Annie opened her eyes. She was outside- Chris must have somehow gotten them both out.

"Chris! How did you get out?" She got to her feet. "Where are we?"

"I don't know, I just woke up and we were outside this fancy house and then you woke up and neither of us knows where we are." Chris was clearly nervous.

"It's okay, Chris. We'll just go up to that house and ask where we are." Annie sounded a lot more confident than she felt.

"Hey you!" A voice shouted at them from behind. They both whirled round to see a portly middle-aged man hurrying towards them. "This is private property and we do not appreciate trespassers!"

"Sorry sir" Annie said. "We were a bit lost. We were wondering if you could tell us where we are?"

The man looked at them closely. "You're not from round here are you?" He asked suspiciously. "Those are very odd clothes you are both wearing."

"I could say the same to you" Chris said. "You're not one of those historical re-enactment guys are you?"

"I am Mr Carson, the butler here at Downton." The man said, drawing himself up to his full height.

"Downton?" Annie asked.

"Oh dear, you really are lost aren't you." Carson said. "Very well, follow me."

. . . . .

"What the bloody hell is this?" Gene thundered.

O'Brien opened her eyes. Somehow she was outside. _Branson must have carried me out. I knew that man must have some use. _But Branson was only just coming round.

"Well?" Gene continued. "What've you done with my team!" And why're you dressed up like a couple of nancies?"

"Why are you dressed like that!" O'Brien replied. "Where have you taken us?" _This must be a kidnap _she thought _the odd clothes, the odd location. Ha. Mrs Hughes will have a fit when she realises._

"I haven't taken you anywhere. I think you're a bit confused love."

"Guv, maybe you should let me handle this." The man standing next to Gene spoke up. "My name's Sam Tyler, that's Gene and this is Ray. Are you lost? What's your name?"

"Tom Branson. Where are we?" Branson finally spoke up.

"Never mind that, why the bloody hell are we here?" O'Brien asked.

"You're in Manchester. We'll try and help you find out…" Sam tried, but was broken off by Gene.

"How about we make a deal. We'll find out whichever loony bin you escaped form and you help us find out what happened to the rest of my team."

"Why should we help you? We don't know where your team is" O'Brien was not going along that easily.

"Blimey you're a chatty one aren't you! Just shut up and get in the car." Gene stormed off. Branson shot a glance at the car.

"_That's _a car?"

**How was that? Odd? Brilliant? Terrible? Very, very upsetting? Let me know! **


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks to everyone who read the first part of this. And double thanks to anyone who has decided to carry on reading!**

"What exactly do you do then?" O'Brien asked Gene. They were back at the police station, trying to figure things out.

"We're police. We're here to help." Sam said.

"Police? Don't be silly- where's your hat?" O'Brien asked.

"My hat? Bloody hell women half the time you open your mouth I don't have a clue what comes out!" Gene laughed.

"We're not the kind of police who wear hats." Sam said, trying to be helpful. O'Brien didn't like Sam. He was too nice for his own good.

"Right. The way I see it, two of my team have gone missing, and you two seem to have popped up from the eighteen hundreds." Gene continued, ignoring Sam.

"We're from the nineteen hundreds." Branson butted in.

"Don't be stupid- I'm from the nineteen hundreds. Anyway, until Annie and Chris decide to show up you're going to have to do their jobs." Gene finished triumphantly.

"What year is this?" Branson asked. He hadn't really been listening to Gene. O'Brien was beginning to wonder if the man ever actually listened. Sam looked at him thoughtfully.

"1975. What year did you expect it to be?"

"1913." Understanding dawned on O'Brien. "We're in the future."

Branson was one step ahead. "And your missing team, they must've gone back to 1913."

Ray laughed. "Come on, you don't honestly expect us to believe you're from the past?" He and Gene laughed.

"You don't honestly expect us to believe you're police?" O'Brien retorted.

"Now listen here…" Gene started, getting up.

"Guv, calm down. We need to find Annie and Chris. Maybe they can help?" Sam tried to diffuse the situation.

Gene scowled. "Fine. You can sort them out. I'm going to the pub." He swept out of the office followed by Ray.

Sam turned to O'Brien and Branson. "Sorry about him, his manners are a bit unorthodox but more often than not he gets the job done." He was silent for a moment before continuing. "Gene doesn't believe in anything he can't point a gun at- that involves time travel."

Normally O'Brien would've instantly cut down anyone who suggested time travel. Now she had different views. "Do you know why we're here?" She asked.

Sam shook his head. "I'm sorry, I don't. But we will find out, I promise."

"Thank you…" Branson tried, but was cut off by O'Brien.

"That boss of yours… where does he keep his fags?"

. . . . .

"O'Brien!" Mr Carson shouted as he entered the kitchen. Annie and Chris looked around in wonder. Who was this 'O'Brien?

"O'Brien is her ladyship's maid." Carson explained, as if reading their minds. "I was wondering if she'd have a spare dress for you- we can't have you walking around here dressed as a man now, can we?" He asked Annie, chuckling. Annie looked down at her trousers, then back at Carson. He'd already moved on.

"Where is that woman?" He muttered to himself. "Branson?" He tried someone else, to no result.

"Fancy place you've got here." Chris said, picking up a highly polished candle stick.

"Thank you, I try to keep everything in shape." Carson turned around. "And I will kindly ask you not to touch anything- fingerprints on the family's possessions will not be tolerated." Chris hurriedly replaced the candle stick.

"Now, do sit down." Carson gestured at the kitchen table. "Where are you from?"

"Manchester." Chris said, reaching for and apple from a bowl of fruit. Annie slapped his hand away.

"I see. And how did you come to be here?" Carson continued, giving Chris a stern glance.

"That's what we don't understand- one minute we were there, now we're here." Annie caught sight of the day's newspaper, carefully folded and ironed, sitting in front of her. It was written in 1913.

"This may seem strange, but what year is it, sir?" She asked.

"Year? People get lost in space, not in time. It's 1913, and Good King George V rules the country." Carson shook his head. "Honestly, I…" he broke off as a woman entered the kitchen. "Mrs Hughes! Have you seen O'Brien and Branson anywhere?"

"No, I haven't." Mrs Hughes answered. She saw Annie and Chris. "Goodness gracious girl, what are you wearing?"

Annie blushed and hid her legs under the table. Mrs Hughes' attention immediately turned back to Mr Carson. "A word Mr Carson, if you will." She said, then left the room.

"Of course" Carson said, and then followed her out.

As soon as they were gone, Annie turned to Chris. "We've gone back in time. We must have. It could explain everything. That house we went to must have sent us back in time."

"Cool." Chris said. "Like in that movie the guv took us to see last week?"

"Chris, this isn't a movie! We've got to figure out how to get back!" She broke off as Carson and Hughes re-entered the room.

"We have come to a decision." Carson announced grandly.

. . . . .

"I am not wearing that." O'Brien stared in horror at the skirt Sam was holding out. "It barely covers the knees!"

"It's either that or trousers." Branson said, fiddling with Sam's radio. "What's that box over there?"

"It a television. And if you're going to fit in wear either the skirt or the trousers." Sam was regretting taking O'Brien and Branson back to his flat. Branson was fine, but O'Brien…

"Fine." O'Brien snatched the trousers and swept off to get changed.

"So how do you know her then?" Sam asked, turning the TV on for Branson.

"I'm a chauffeur. She's a maid. I have to see her every time I go up to the house. Who's that?" He pointed at the screen.

"Harold Wilson. The Prime Minister. What house?" Sam was trying to get as much information as possible. If he could find out where Annie and Chris had gone, he was one step closer to bringing them back.

"The Prime Minister? What's he doing in that box?"

"He's not; it's a moving picture of him. Which house?" Sam persisted.

"Downton Abbey. Owned by the Granthams at the minute." Branson squinted at the screen. "What's this 'Sex Discrimination Act' he talking about?"

Sam sighed. Branson was spending as much time asking questions as he did answering them. "It's to try and make women more equal at work." He'd have to look up this 'Downton Abbey'. Things were much harder without the internet.

Sam's phone rang. A slightly drunk Gene was on the other end. At the end of Gene's rant Sam hung up, and turned to Branson. "The guv wants us back at the station. Should we take Sarah with us?"

O'Brian took that moment to come storming in. "You are not leaving me here!"

Sam sighed again. "Fine. Just… try and keep a low profile. And try not to get on the wrong side of Gene." He stood up, headed to the door, then motioned for the others to follow him. Branson got up eagerly.

"Can I drive?"

**Next time: O'Brien gets given a gun, much to Branson's worry. Also: Violet meets Annie…**

**Feedback appreciated! **


	3. Chapter 3

**Some of Gene's and O'Brien's language is written phonetically, but some isn't. Just try and read everything they say in their respective accents!**

**I've also remembered I should've put a disclaimer in earlier, so here it is now. I do not own Life on Mars. That would make my life too much fun. I do not own Downton Abbey. If I did, I would've moved in long ago. Now that's out of the way- on with the show!**

Annie and Chris sat at the kitchen table, surrounded by most of Downton's servants. They had attracted quite a lot of attention from the staff- whispered conversations between Daisy and Gwen, loud exclamations from Mrs Patmore and accusing glances from Thomas. Needless to say they felt fairly intimidated. The mysterious O'Brien and Branson they kept hearing of had still not shown up. Mrs Hughes had considered trying to arrange for Anna to serve Lady Grantham, but asking the poor girl to do extra work was too much. Carson and Hughes had done the only thing they could think of.

"We will try and provide you with lodgings until you find out how you can get home. In return, we would expect you to fill in the gaps we have been left in our staffing." Carson boomed. Mrs Hughes carried on.

"Until O'Brien gets back, we would like you, Annie, to temporarily serve as a maid. Anna will show you what to do." She looked over at one of the maids, who smiled at Annie and nodded at Mrs Hughes.

"And you, Christopher, Can you drive?"

"Er, it's just Chris, and yeah I can." Chris looked to Annie for support. He didn't get any.

"Right, that's settled. Until O'Brien and Branson decide to come back, you two will have to work. Agreed?" Carson asked. They could only nod.

"Oooh, do you reckon they've eloped?" Mrs Patmore said, while Mrs Hughes gave her a scathing glance.

"Don't be ridiculous Mrs Patmore." She scoffed. "Anna, look after Annie. William, you make sure Christopher knows what his duties are." With that she left the room. Chris again looked to Annie.

"Just go along with it, Chris." She whispered. "We'll figure it out. Maybe this house is the key."

"The key to what?" Chris asked, as Anna and William made their way over.

"I don't know." Annie's reply was almost inaudible.

. . . . .

"Right" Gene said, clapping his hands. "Brainless Barney's in there, along with a few of his cronies. They'll probably be armed, so I want you to have your guns at the ready. I'm going to…"

"Brainless Barney?" Branson asked, wondering if he'd misheard.

"Yes. So called because he acts like he doesn't have any brains. It's a wonder he's the crook he is." Gene passed Branson a gun. "You might need this."

Branson looked at the gun in distaste. "I don't do guns."

"Of course not." Gene snarled. "What would you like- a bomb?"

"Can I 'ave the gun?" O'Brien asked. Branson gave her a shocked look.

"At least one of you's got your wits about you." Gene handed her the gun.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Asked Branson.

"It can't be that hard. I just pull this do I?" O'Brien pointed the gun at Gene. He ducked.

"Don't point the bloody thing at me! Point it at anyone who points one at you!"

O'Brien nodded, while Branson still had a look of horror on his face. "I think I'll wait in the car." He said. To his relief, Gene agreed.

"The station might want to get in touch. And you'd just get in the way."

Branson gratefully headed back to the car. Gene headed over to the entrance to a basement, and motioned for Sam, Ray and O'Brien to follow.

"Alright Barney- come out with yer hands in the air or we'll come in and shoot you!" Gene yelled, kicking the door down for emphasis. He ran into the basement, followed by Ray.

"Guv, shouldn't you give him a chance to come out?" Asked Sam, but was too late. He and O'Brien ran inside, O'Brien wrinkling her nose in distaste at the dank, dirty basement.

She was immediately met with a scene of absolute chaos- gun shots firing everywhere, several men lying on the floor yelling. She suddenly noticed a man lunge in front of her, with a wild look in his eyes. Just as he made a grab for her she kicked him in the shins and shot him in the leg. He fell over, whimpering. The shooting around her stopped, as everyone turned to her and the man lying on the floor.

"Bloody hell- you've shot Brainless Barney!" Gene said in disbelief. Ray let out a cheer. In an instant half a dozen men were handcuffed and getting lead out the building, back towards the car where Branson was waiting. He looked up in shock at the procession heading his way. O'Brien allowed herself a secret smile- she may be stuck in the future, but she was having more fun than she'd ever had helping her ladyship.

. . . . .

"What, pray, are you doing?" The voice jerked Annie out of her daydream. She had been going upstairs to the servant quarters to put on a dress Anna had found for her, but had been stopped by a rather stern looking old woman.

"Oh, sorry, I'm the new maid here." The woman looked Annie up and down, disapprovingly. She gave a sniff.

"I must say, I never thought much of O'Brien, but at least she had the decency to dress properly!"

Annie apologised again. "I'm sorry; I was on my way to get changed."

"I should hope so! But you shouldn't be using these stairs! You're a maid!" The woman sniffed again, and looked at Annie in distaste. "What's your name, girl?"

"Annie, I…" Thankfully Anna arrived. She curtsied hurriedly at the woman, then motioned for Annie to do the same.

"I'm sorry, my Lady. Annie here is new; she doesn't quite know where to go. Please excuse us."

The lady nodded, then turned her back on them. Anna tugged Annie away, and then led her to the stairs the servants used.

"Who was that?" Annie asked.

"Lady Violet, the Dowager Countess. What were you thinking, using those stairs?" Anna handed her a dress, identical to the one she was wearing.

"She's very rude! I honestly didn't know I was supposed to use different stairs. At least Chris is in his own house, he'd cause havoc up here!" To Annie's surprise, Anna laughed.

"I can imagine! He'd be worse than you! He looks like he could get lost going in a straight line. Is he your fiancé?"

"Chris! No! No. We're just friends, we work together." Annie laughed.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Do you have a fiancé?" Annie could tell Anna wasn't being nosy, just trying to be friendly.

"No. I have a boyfriend though, he's called Sam." Annie suddenly stopped laughing. "Oh no, Sam! He must be wondering where I am!"

Anna patted her shoulder. "Don't worry. I'm sure you'll be together again soon. But in the meantime, put that dress on, and I'll show you what you need to do."

Annie nodded. She would find a way back. She had to.

. . . . .

O'Brien sat on a desk, smoking. She turned to Ray, who was sitting next to her.

"I'm getting used to trousers, you know." She said conversationally. "The most you can do in a dress is walk briskly. You can do proper running in these things. Not that I'd want to."

"I don't like birds in trousers myself." Ray answered. "It gives them ideas."

"Pffft." O'Brien scoffed and turned away. Sam and Branson had been talking between themselves for the past half hour. Gene was in his office, doing heaven knows what. Getting up, she thought briefly about joining Branson and Sam, but instead marched into Gene's office.

"Whiskey?" Gene held out a glass to her just as the door swung shut. It seemed like he'd been waiting for her.

"I saw you come storming along through the window. I thought you could use a drink."

_The man's a bloody mind reader. _O'Brien thought, as she wordlessly took the glass. She felt slightly awkward- she'd never been offered a drink (alcoholic no less!) from a man she hardly knew. Struggling for words, she resorted back to her default setting.

"Aren't you going to say thank you?" She demanded.

"For what?"

"For shooting that Barmy Barney in the basement." O'Brien was back on familiar ground. Arguing stayed the same no matter which decade you were in.

"Brainless Barney. And we'd've been fine without you." Gene seemed quite willing to carry on the argument.

"No you wouldn't. You were a greater danger to yourself and your team than you were to anyone else!"

"You're starting to sound just like Tyler." Gene snapped.

"And you sound like a…" O'Brien's remark was lost as Sam burst into the room.

"Tyler! I was having a private conversation!"

"Sorry guv, I needed to speak to you." Sam looked only slightly apologetic.

"Well get on with it then!" Gene angrily swallowed his whiskey.

"I was wondering if I could be excused for a couple of days. I wanted to try and figure out where Annie and Chris have gone, and how to get them back."

From behind Sam, Branson gave an obvious cough.

"And how to get Tom and Sarah back too, of course."

"Fine. It's just going to be endless paperwork about Brainless Barney anyway. But you'd better be ready if I need you."

"Thanks guv." Sam and Branson turned to go. "Sarah? Are you coming?" He asked as they reached the door.

O'Brien nodded, finished her whiskey, and headed out. When she got to the door, Gene called out.

"O'Brien!"

She whirled round, ready to carry on her argument.

"Thanks." Gene practically choked out the word, then busied himself with papers on his desk.

O'Brien left, satisfied.

**I'm not sure why, but I can't seem to call O'Brien and Branson Sarah and Tom. Yet Gene, Annie and Chris all have first names. Hope this doesn't bother anyone. **

**Next time: Tom and Branson try driving cars from a different era, and Gene has to spend the day with O'Brien!**

**If you have time, reviews are appreciated. Appreciated by me anyway. I'm not sure anyone else will appreciate my reviews. Anyway.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry for the jumping about in this chapter (more jumping about than in other chapters), but due to the O'Brien/Branson split this chapter is divided up more. Anyway, hope it's okay.**

Sam sat on his chair, sucking a pencil. He'd planned to try and figure out where and when Annie and Chris had gone, and Branson seemed more than happy to help, but O'Brien … well, O'Brien wasn't exactly being helpful. So far, while he and Branson had been piling their collective information, she had been leaning out his window smoking, while complaining. Mostly about Gene.

"… and he doesn't even act like a proper police officer. No manners at all. And the way he…" Neither Branson nor Sam paid her the slightest bit of attention.

"So the last thing you remember was going into the garage, which was glowing." Sam asked Branson, trying to get his head around what had happened.

"Yes. But it was dark inside."

"Hmm. And then you blacked out?"

Branson nodded.

"Maybe Annie and Chris did something similar. Maybe they went into a glowing building or somewhere…" Sam trailed off, then suddenly snapped his fingers. "Portals! There could be portals through time, and somehow you and Sarah and Annie and Chris entered them at the same time, resulting in you swapping places!"

"Portals?" Branson looked confused.

"Oh, um, they're kind of… gateways. They shouldn't exist, but it's the only explanation I can think of. And if we can find the portal here, then we…"

"…should be able to get back!" Branson finished, looking triumphant. O'Brien finally withdrew from the window.

"Where's this portal then?" She asked. Sam's smile dropped.

"I don't know. I thought we could try and look for it while I have time off work."

O'Brien rolled her eyes. "So you don't even know where the bloody thing is? Have fun with that."

"Are you not coming with us?" Branson asked. He was under the impression they would have been looking for this 'portal' together.

"Not likely. I think I'll just stay here." For emphasis, O'Brien sat down and stared at the TV, which she had recently discovered.

Branson and Sam shared a look. Sam shook his head. "Fine, stay here. If we find anything we'll come back." They didn't move.

"Well go on then!" Snapped O'Brien. "Get searching!"

. . . . .

Chris was wearing a hat. A chauffeur's hat, which looked out of place perched on top of his head. He grinned at Annie, who was sitting at the kitchen table looking exhausted.

"Chris! What are you wearing?" Annie had to stop herself laughing at the sight of Chris in his new uniform, which was slightly too big for him.

"I'm a chauffeur, I was told to look like one." Still grinning he sat down. "What's up with you? Did you not sleep last night?"

"I was up half the night trying to figure out what's happened. Then as soon as I got to sleep I had to get up and work!"

"Hard life." Chris stretched out. "So, did you figure anything out?"

"No, that's the annoying thing. It must be something to do with that house we went into, but I just don't know what."

At that moment Mrs Hughes swept. "What are you doing?" She addressed Annie. "You should be upstairs, with Gwen." She turned then to Chris. "And you- his Lordship will be waiting for his car in fifteen minutes. Make sure you're there." Shaking her head, she caught sight of someone else. "Thomas! What has happened to your uniform?.." She hurried off out of sight.

"I suppose we'd better go." Annie said glumly, moving off. "skip lunch- meet me outside and we'll come up with a plan."

. . . . .

"Tom! Slow down!" Sam held on for dear life as the Cortina hurtled round yet another corner. He'd never have thought that the Irishman would be a worse driver than Gene. Actually, no, he was a better driver than Gene; he just drove a lot faster.

"What did you say the speed limit was?" Branson asked, laughing.

"I didn't, but I'm pretty sure you're over it."

"This car's incredible! I've never driven anything like it! And the colour…"

If Sam didn't know better, he'd swear the man was in love with the car. "Here!" he shouted, as they approached the estate where he'd last seen Annie and Chris. Branson slammed on the brakes, and the car screeched to a halt.

"Incredible!" Branson said again, marvelling at the stopping speed.

Sam clambered out of the car on shaky legs. Branson jumped out brightly.

"Right where do we start?"

Sam groaned.

. . . . .

"What happened to Branson?" Lord Grantham had just been ushered into his car by someone who was definitely not his usual driver.

"Oh, he's… he can't report for duty, so I have been brought in to help out." Chris was trying to sound posh, so added a "sir" as an extra.

"I see. Very efficient of you then. Where are you from?" Lord Grantham asked as he got into the car.

"Manchester… yep, definitely Manchester." Chris launched himself into the driver's seat.

"I see. I'm going to the town hall, and I'll be finished in two hours."

Lord Grantham settled back in his seat and Chris drove off. Drove off in 1970s style.

"It's not very fast, is it?" Chris commented as he pushed the car to its limits.

"I'd say you're going fast enough. Faster than necessary."

"Oh, sorry." Chris slowed down. Driving in the nineteen tens was not fun.

. . . . .

"Tyler!" Gene burst into Sam's flat, only to find O'Brien sitting there alone.

"Do you ever make a dignified entrance?" she asked, not looking up from the TV.

"Where's Tyler? The bloody nancy's nicked off with my car! I had to get Ray to drive me here!" He raged.

"They've gone to look for portals. And you've broken in here! Call yourself police."

"Potholes? Why the blazes is he looking for them?"

"He thinks that's how Branson and I got here, and how Annie and Chris vanished. It sounds a bit stupid to me."

"Stupid is an understatement. This isn't Alice in Bloody Wonderland!" Gene yanked O'Brien up by the arm. "You're coming back to the station; I need another pair of hands. If you're good and keep your mouth shut I'll take you to the pub later."

"Get your hands off me!" O'Brien snapped, but she followed Gene out of the door nonetheless. United in the belief that Sam was out of his mind, they set off.

. . . . .

Annie sat on a bench next to Chris, a piece of paper in her hands.

"We should try and get a message back to our time; try and give Sam and the others a clue as to where we are. They might even be able to help get us back."

"We can't write a letter addressed to a place which doesn't exist yet!" Chris shook his head.

"I know, that's the problem- we need to find some way to get a message to him." Annie was frustrated- she'd written a letter to Sam on the paper, but had no way of getting it to him. They stopped their conversation as William walked past with a stack of old glass bottles. When he was gone, Annie turned back to Chris.

"That's it! We'll hide a message in a bottle!"

"Annie!" Anna's voice called from inside the house.

"I've got to go. We'll finish the letter later." She tucked the letter up her sleeve and ran off.

. . . . .

"…and then of course they never realised that it was Thomas all along!" O'Brien finished her story to much laughter from Gene and Ray.

"Blimey." Ray chuckled. "And you knew?"

"Of course you bloody dimwit, weren't you listening?" O'Brien wouldn't care to admit it, but she was having fun. And she was slightly drunk. But she would never admit that.

"Yeah, listen to the lady, Ray." Gene slapped Ray playfully around the ear. "Nelson! Another drink for the lady!"

Nelson raised an eyebrow at O'Brien. "Lady? Boy, he must like you". O'Brien wasn't listening; she had launched into another story. She was interrupted by the arrival of Sam and Branson.

"We've found something!" Branson exclaimed, sitting down next to O'Brien. Nelson placed her drink in front of her, only for Branson to pick it up and down it. O'Brien stared at him reproachfully.

"Sorry, I was thirsty." Branson edged away from her apologetically.

"Right! I'm off!" Gene announced.

"Good idea." Mumbled Ray, stumbling after Gene. Gene stopped by Sam on the way out.

"Keys" he demanded, and then gave a belch and a thank you when they were produced.

"We should go too- you look like you need a lie down." Sam tried to help O'Brien up. "We'll tell you what we found out tomorrow."

"You'd better do that." O'Brien drew herself up to her full height. "Chauffeur- the car."

"She gets posh when she's drunk" Branson commented.

"Great" Sam muttered.

"And send my regards to Mr Hunt- I had a most delightful time with him today." She continued.

Hunt? Delightful? She must be drunk. Both Branson and Sam had the same thought.

**How was that? Not sure what to put as a 'next time', I have a vague idea, but no key points yet. I will try and upload soon though. I'm not sure how O'Brien would act when drunk, so I took a leaf out Miranda's book and made her all regal. **


	5. Chapter 5

**No Annie and Chris in this one, sorry. They just didn't seem to fit in. I also had to think of some reason how everyone ended up in the wrong time, and it may be a bit random, but it works. Anyway, the focus of this story was never going to be the whys and hows of time travel; time travel was just a convenient way for O'Brien and Gene to meet.**

"Guv?" Ray cautiously approached Gene, who appeared to be in a bad mood. "Phyllis gave me this to give to you. She said Nelson gave it to her." He held out an old beer bottle. "Looks like it's got a letter inside."

Gene grabbed it. "Why would someone send me a bottle with nothing to drink in? Bloody idiots." He muttered as he fished the letter out. He read the note in silence, which took him several minutes. He then read it again, a frown on his face.

"Is this a joke?" He demanded of Ray.

"I dunno guv. I don't think Nelson'd come up with something like this." Ray tried to get a look at the letter. Gene hid it from view.

"It wasn't Nelson who wrote it." Gene scanned the letter again, still scowling.

"What's it say?" Ray asked.

"Mind your own business." Gene snapped. Whatever was in the letter must have annoyed him. "Tyler!" He shouted.

"Guv, he's taken the day off." Ray backed off, slowly. When the guv was in this kind of mood it was best to avoid annoying him further.

"Tyler!" Gene shouted as he made his way over to the phone. "Tyler!" He shouted down the line to where Sam was no doubt nursing bruised ears. "Get your bloody arse in here right now!"

. . . . .

O'Brien, Branson, Gene and Sam sat in Gene's office with the letter in front of them. Sam stared hard at it, thinking.

"So we know that Annie and Chris _have _gone to where Sarah and Tom were. And we know where the portal that took them there is. The only problem is that we have no way of getting a message back to them."

"Will you stop going on about bloody potholes!" Gene snapped. "It's not possible to time travel through potholes! Police boxes are ruled out of the equation as well 'cos I've been in many of them and time has always passed as we've become accustomed to it passing!" He finished in one breath, and was slightly red in the face.

"I never took you to be a Doctor Who fan." Sam looked at Gene curiously.

"I'm not. Chris made me watch it. Once."

"Wait a minute- who's this Doctor? Can he help us get back?" Branson wondered. Sam hurriedly explained.

"He's not real, he's an imaginary character."

"Why mention him then?" O'Brien asked.

"It doesn't matter. What matters is that we know where the portal is, and so hopefully that will take us one step closer to getting you back. Once there, you can tell Annie and Chris about the…" Sam hesitated, and looked to Branson.

"Garage." He supplied.

"Tell Annie and Chris about the garage and then they can come back here." Sam finished.

"I still think the whole thing is a massive farce." Gene took a swig out of a hip-flask. "Either that or you're all figments of my imagination. A very twisted imagination." He looked at O'Brien. "Figments." He repeated.

"Excuse me- don't call me a 'figment'. I'm very real thank you very much." O'Brien glared at Gene.

"Prove it." Gene leaned over the table and glared back.

"Stop flirting!" Everyone turned to look at Branson, who had thrown his hands to the air in desperation.

"We're not flirting!" Both Gene and O'Brien exclaimed at the same time.

Branson and Sam looked at each other and smirked.

"Anyway- last night you said you'd found something. What was it?" Gene asked furiously.

"A crater." Sam said, while Branson nodded beside him. "And then I checked the news and discovered that a meteor shower happened the evening Annie and Chris disappeared. Only one piece of meteor actually landed- and it landed right in the back garden of the house Annie and Chris went into."

"And how does this help exactly?" Gene asked.

"I'm still not sure. Maybe something in the meteor caused a portal to open."

"Where's this meteor then?" O'Brien said.

"Gone." Branson said simply.

"Gone? Where to?"

Sam sighed. "We're not sure. Listen, I'll try and track down this meteor."

Branson cut in. "Do you want me to drive you anywhere?"

Sam visibly paled. "No, it's fine. I'll be okay on my own."

"So what do we do? Do we stay with Gene?" O'Brien asked.

"You can, if you really want to." Sam looked dubious that anyone would want to spend more time than necessary with Gene.

"Of course they want to!" Gene raged. "Why wouldn't they? I'm marvellous! I'm the Gene Genie!"

"Not that marvellous." O'Brien muttered.

"Oi! I'm the DCI around here- if that's not a sign of marvelousness I don't know what is!"

"If you think so." O'Brien nonchalantly took out a cigarette and lit it. Gene leant back in his chair, fuming.

"I'll see you later." Sam hastily got up- he had no desire to get caught up in another argument between Gene and O'Brien. He felt slightly sorry for leaving Branson, but felt sure that he'd have an easier time keeping the others in check than he would.

As soon as Sam had left, Gene clapped his hands. "Right, I've got three suspects to interview, and I'll probably need some help keeping things in order."

Branson felt a small sense of relief- at least there seemed to be some aspect of sensible police work going on, not just running around shooting people and bashing their heads in. He knew people who would have heart attacks if they knew what the state of government would be like in the future. _Luckily though_, he thought grimly to himself, _Violet will be long gone by the time any of this happens. I can just imagine her confronting Gene. I'd almost feel sorry for him. _

. . . . .

The 'interviewing' hadn't gone as Branson expected. Gene hadn't let anyone get a word in edgeways, apart from the sixty year old woman who hadn't let him say anything. Luckily Branson had managed to stop Gene hitting anyone, which earned him glares from Ray and mutters of 'fairy' from Gene. O'Brien had watched everything calmly, taking everything in, and for once not saying a word.

When the interviews where over, O'Brien left, saying she was 'going to speak to Phyllis'. Gene set about pacing the room randomly calling out rhetorical questions to Ray and Branson. In a short while O'Brien was back, looking smug.

"It was Viola." She said, waving her cigarette in the air for emphasis.

"You what? She's sixty. How could she have broken into the flat and stolen the vase?" Gene shook his head. "And I thought you might be helpful."

"She didn't break in. She had the keys. I just spoke to Phyllis and she used the telephone to call Viola's friend who's a cleaner who just so happens to clean the flat where the vase was. Viola borrowed the keys, went into the flat, stole the vase and then made it look like a break-in."

Gene, Branson and Ray stared at her. "Bloody hell, how'd you figure that one out then?" Ray laughed.

"That's all very well, but she's _sixty._" Gene said. "How can you be sure it was her anyway?"

Branson again thought of Violet.

"Oh, I just went and asked her. She seemed happier to talk to me than to you. I told her the story of Thomas and the cake tin."

"Wait, it was Thomas who buried the cake tin?" Branson asked in wonder. He should've guessed. O'Brien glared at him.

"You forget you ever heard that young man. Anyway, it appears the vase was some family heirloom of hers, which she'd lost in a game of cards."

Branson looked at O'Brien in awe. Maybe the hours she spent gossiping had in some way given her a talent for nosing out the truth. Whatever she did, it was better than Gene threatening the suspects with a Rubik's Cube he'd found in the office.

Gene looked like he was struggling for words. He was also steadily turning red. "Right" he snapped, and stormed out of the room. Ray hurried after him, leaving Branson alone with O'Brien.

"That was…" he started, but couldn't finish.

O'Brien took over. "To use Mr Hunt's terminology," she paused, and smiled "I am bloody marvellous."

**Gene hasn't quite grasped the purpose of Rubik's Cubes. If he knew their true nature he would lock each and every one of them up.**

**I might write the epic adventure of Thomas and the Cake Tin one day, or the tragic tale of Gene and the Rubik's Cube. **

**Please review if you have the time.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Sorry it took so long in uploading this one. I just couldn't seem to put it together. So apologies if it seems a bit random. There is a tiny bit of Carson/Hughes here for Lavender and Hay, who is, I assure you, not entirely crazy for coming up with the Gene/O'Brien idea. Just to make it clear.**

Annie was exhausted. She was used to hard work, but not the kind of work she had been doing for the past few days. She hardly got any time to spend in bed, and the hours she did get she spent awake, worrying and thinking. She'd written and hidden the letter to Gene, so hopefully he'd get it decades later. But if he didn't… She sighed and put her head in her hands.

"What's wrong with you then?" A voice came from above her. The question sounded snarky, like the person asking didn't really care what was wrong. Looking up she saw Thomas standing above her, holding a cigarette.

"Nothing" she replied, but couldn't stop her eyes welling up. _What if I'm stuck here? Wait, don't think like that. You'll find a way. Sam will find a way. And Annie Cartwright you will NOT cry. _

Thomas sat down next to her. "Want a fag?" he offered. Annie shook her head. "Suit yerself." Annie had heard about Thomas from the other members of staff, but never talked to him. She had gathered that he had been friendly with the missing Mrs O'Brien, that Daisy was hopelessly in love with him, and that Mrs Hughes and Mr Carson looked at him with a mixture of wariness and dislike. Everyone else seemed to treat him with a certain coldness.

"Where's O'Brien then" he asked her suddenly. Annie didn't know what to say.

"I really don't know, sorry."

Thomas snorted. "How much did she pay you then?"

"Pay me? I've never met her? Why would she pay me?" Annie was confused.

Thomas gave a laugh. "Come on, you can tell me. I know Sarah's been wanting a few days off for ages now; she figured the easiest way would be to pay someone to fill in for 'er. That's why you're here, right?"

"Well," Annie started to try and explain, but Gwen came hurrying over.

"Annie, Mrs Hughes needs us. Right now." She headed off again, without waiting for Annie. Annie got up to leave.

"Don't worry- it'll be our secret." She turned round to look at Thomas, who gave her a very suspicious wink then went back to his cigarette. Wondering what to make of this, Annie ran off after Gwen.

. . . . .

"Where is Tyler?" Gene asked. No one was sure who he was actually asking, so they all remained silent.

"It's past half bloody eleven!" He continued, pacing up and down in the pub. O'Brien rolled her eyes.

"We're perfectly capable of getting home ourselves." She said. Branson looked at her.

"Do you even remember where Sam's place is?" For the past few nights they had stayed in the flat below Sam's, which was conveniently empty. O'Brien had speculated one night that Gene had locked up the previous owners in order to find them a place to stay. Branson had speculated that O'Brien might be slightly in love with Gene, but was in denial. He had then spent the night locked out and sleeping in Sam's chair.

"That's not the point! I want to know where the hell he is!" Gene raged.

"Maybe he just needed some time to himself, you know? To be free" Nelson interjected. Gene glared at him.

"Right! That's it. I'm taking you two back." He got to his feet. "I 'ave to do everything around here. Come on." He practically yanked O'Brien's arm out of its socket as he dragged her towards the door. Nelson raised an eyebrow at Branson, who shrugged, then followed the others.

He arrived just as another argument was starting. O'Brien was standing by the car with her arms folded, glaring impatiently at Gene as he was about to get into the car. He noticed her looking.

"What?" he demanded.

"Aren't you going to open the door for me?" O'Brien asked.

"You what?" Gene replied in the same way he replied to most of O'Brien's questions. Branson quickly stepped in and opened the door for O'Brien.

"We're in the 70s now" he said under his breath. "I think it's the custom to throw women in cars not help them in."

Gene overheard. "I have never thrown a woman into a car before!" He said indignantly. "Thrown them out, yes, but never in. They generally come willingly."

Branson shook his head and got in the car. All the way back Gene and O'Brien argued incessantly over anything and everything. Gene's driving style wasn't to O'Brien's satisfaction, and neither was the half eaten sandwich in the glove compartment or the gun on the floor. Branson shut his eyes and tried to block them out. They eventually arrived, and Gene grudgingly went round and opened the door for O'Brien.

"Thank you." O'Brien said, and Gene gave a mock bow. Branson rolled his eyes.

"Mind if I come in? I need a drink." Gene asked, and didn't wait for a reply. He barged into the flat. "Bloody hell, it's clean in here." He sat down on the sofa and turned to O'Brien. "Put the kettle on, love."

Branson echoed Gene's earlier words. "It's past half eleven!"

"I know, and I'm too tired to go 'ome. I'll stay here for the night." Gene gave the sofa a bounce. "I'll sleep here- it's better than that mouldy old one Tyler's got."

Branson and O'Brien looked at Gene. Branson in horror, O'Brien in awe.

Branson quietly said "I think I'll stay in Sam's flat tonight."

Gene grunted from the sofa. "Good idea- it's not as if Tyler's there. Better than sleeping on the floor here anyway." Branson was about to point out that it should be Gene sleeping on the floor, but thought better of it.

"Goodnight" Branson said, and exited as quickly as he could. Neither Gene nor O'Brien replied.

O'Brien tried to work out how to use the kettle, but in the end gave up.

"Sorry, the kettle's broken so…" She was met by a loud snoring noise. Gene had fallen asleep on the sofa, and was making inhuman noises closest to that of a pig. O'Brien couldn't help thinking that if someone looked after him properly he wouldn't be quite so repulsive…

She shook her head. That was a dangerous train of thought. Trying to dislodge any feelings verging on romantic O'Brien tried to go to sleep.

. . . . .

Annie slumped in a chair at the kitchen table, having finished all her work for the day. Chris was down by his house in the garage, and Anna and Gwen were upstairs. Mrs Hughes was slowly drinking a cup of tea, while Mr Carson read the paper. Annie couldn't help but notice the secretive glances between them, and wondered why they didn't just make their relationship public. But, she decided, there was probably some weird taboo regarding servants in a big house coupling up.

She was shaken from her thoughts by William running into the kitchen.

"Mrs Hughes- there's a man who's just shown up. He's looking for Annie and Chris. He's outside."

"Well for heaven's sake William- bring him in! It's raining." Mrs Hughes said, while Carson neatly folded his paper up. Annie stood up. Carson shot her a glance.

"We don't normally allow visitors, especially at this time of day, but since you've adjusted well to your job I'll make an exception."

Thomas wandered in at the moment, and sat down in Annie's vacant chair. "What's 'appening? I've just past William rushing about like he's lost the cake tin again." At that moment William came back, leading a soaking wet figure into the kitchen. Annie let out a gasp.

"Sam! You found us!" Sam smiled ruefully.

"Of course I did." He said, then collapsed into a coughing fit. Mrs Hughes glared at William reproachfully.

"He's caught a cold, from getting left out in the rain." She said. "Fetch him a towel". Annie guided Sam to a chair.

"How'd you get here? Can we get back?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah…I've found a way back… we'll go as soon as we can." He then resumed coughing.

Carson guessed what was going on. "You're going to go then? And Christopher too?"

Annie nodded. "If that's alright. Thank you for everything, you've been so kind. I'm sure once we leave Miss O'Brien and Branson will come back. Right Sam?" Sam nodded, but couldn't speak. He was shivering, and was clutching the towel he'd been brought around his shoulders. Mrs Hughes looked horrified.

"You can't leave now- it's night time! And there's a storm coming. And your friend here has a terrible cold. At least stay the night. Sam can share a room with William."

William looked taken aback, but was rescued by an unlikely person.

"It's alright Mrs Hughes" Thomas said smoothly. "Sam can share my room."

"Very kind of you, Thomas." Carson said. Sam and William also muttered thanks. Thomas led Sam upstairs, and William followed.

"I'd better go too." Annie said. "And thank you, for letting Sam stay."

"Of course. It would be terrible to send you out right now." Mrs Hughes said. Annie nodded, and left the room. As she left she noticed Carson sit back down; but this time right next to Mrs Hughes. Shaking her head, Annie went to bed.

**Phew, that took me ages to write. Chris has kind of taken a back seat at the minute, but I couldn't seem to fit him in. Reviews are loved! (By me. And I know many other people who also love reviews. But anyway.)**


	7. Chapter 7

**Firstly- sorry for the delay in update times. I had work experience then went back to school and got loaded with a heap of work. Secondly- this chapter's shorter than previous ones, but I wanted to get something up. Hope you enjoy.**

Annie waited impatiently in the kitchen at breakfast. She had tried to go and see Sam, but had been blocked by Mrs Hughes, who apparently thought it was inappropriate for her to walk along the men's corridor. Instead, she had sent Chris up to enquire after Sam.

"Annie, sit down- you'll wear a hole in the floorboards if you carry on pacing like that." Anna was sitting at the table eating her breakfast. Gwen pulled out a chair and Annie sunk into it.

"I'm sorry, it's just I want to know how Sam is."

Anna looked sympathetic. "He'll be fine- he's just got a cold that's all. Nothing to worry about."

"He's sharing a room with Thomas mind you." Gwen put in. Annie was confused.

"Should that worry me? Thomas seemed alright when he was speaking to me yesterday."

"Let's just say Thomas isn't a fan of the ladies." Mrs Patmore had just come in, and eagerly launched into the conversation.

Gwen rolled her eyes. She'd heard this conversation before, only it was Daisy Mrs Patmore had been using her weird metaphors on. She decided to cut to the chase. "He's gay."

Anna gave a small gasp. "Gwen! You shouldn't say things like that, it's not proper."

"It's alright, it's not as if Daisy's about."

Mrs Patmore picked up the mention of Daisy.

"Daisy! Where is that girl? Daisy!" She hurried out of the kitchen.

"Is that why no-one likes him?" Annie thought this was a bit unfair. It seemed the people of the 1910's shared the same views as Gene Hunt.

"No-one likes him 'cos he's a trouble maker." Gwen lowered her voice. "I don't know why Carson's kept him on this long. I think-" She broke off as Chris entered.

Annie immediately jumped to her feet. "How is he? Is he ok? How did he get here?"

Chris took an involuntary step back. "He's fine. Well, he says he's fine. He looks a bit funny. But he says he'll be fine." He finished and made to sit down.

"Tell him to get better. And ask him how he got here."

Chris nodded, but this wasn't enough for Annie.

"Now, Chris."

"But… all those stairs..." he wilted under Annie's glare.

"Now"

. . . . .

O'Brien stood over Gene with a large pan in one hand and a metal spoon in the other. Gene twitched and grunted in his sleep. Positioning the pan close to Gene's head O'Brien dealt it an almighty blow with the spoon. Sitting upright with a start Gene gazed wildly around him before noticing O'Brien standing with the pan. Seizing the pan he threw it in a random direction- right at the door which Branson had just walked through.

"Holy-" Branson ducked as the pan went sailing past. Running into the flat he locked himself into the bathroom.

"I only came in for my toothbrush and I get assaulted! Is everyone this violent in the future?" Branson's voice was muffled through the door.

"Are you going to apologise for nearly killing him?" O'Brien raised an eyebrow at Gene.

"Are you going to apologise for nearly deafening me?" Gene retorted. "Here I am, a guest in your 'ouse, and you try to deprive me of one of my six senses!"

"You only 'ave five senses." O'Brien sniffed.

"Not me- I 'ave a sense for crime." Gene tried to make this sound impressive.

"How about common sense?" O'Brien asked innocently. Gene narrowed his eyes at her.

"I'll get breakfast." O'Brien quickly left to go to the kitchen. Gene yawned and stretched and followed her.

"What's that?" Gene looked suspiciously at what O'Brien was cooking. "That's…"

"If you say it's disgusting you'll be cooking your own breakfast." Gene visibly paled.

"It looks… interesting".

Before O'Brien could reply they were interrupted by a knock at the still open door. A little boy cautiously poked his head round, the pan that had been thrown out of the door in one hand and a letter in the other.

"What d'you want?" Gene asked.

"Are you… are you Tom Branson?" the boy asked, clearly intimidated by Gene towering over him.

"Do I look like a bloody Irishman to you?" Gene snapped. O'Brien gave him a reproachful glare. "I mean- he's in the bathroom."

The boy gulped, and nodded. He turned to O'Brien. "Is this yours?" He asked, holding out the pan.

"Yes. Thank you." O'Brien emphasised the 'thank you' with a meaningful glance at Gene.

"Yes… thank you." Gene held out his hand for the letter. "Give me the letter and I'll give it to Branson."

The boy wordlessly handed over the letter and fled from the room.

"You have a great way with children." O'Brien said sarcastically.

"I work with a bunch of them." Gene replied. Branson chose that moment to decide that the danger of being hit by flying cooking equipment had passed, and so cautiously re-joined the others.

"You have mail." Gene said grandly, passing over the letter. He then proceeded to prod at the bowl of porridge O'Brien had just given him. He didn't notice Branson's face change as he read the letter, but O'Brien did.

"What is it? What's it say? Who's it from."

Branson looked up at them, his face full of hope. "It's from Sam. He's found a way to get back."

. . . . .

Sam coughed as he made his way down to the kitchen. He'd borrowed some of Thomas's old clothes, as his own were still too wet to wear. When he reached the kitchen he found it a hive of activity.

"'Scuse me." William said, pushing past Sam while carrying a tray.

"William! We say 'excuse me', not this 'scuse business." Carson, the large butler reproached William, and then noticed Sam. "Ah! Mr Tyler. Glad to see you looking better. You will have to excuse us- his Lordship has a few friends round so things are a bit frantic."

Sam nodded, and searched the room for Annie. She wasn't anywhere to be seen.

"You looking for your friend?" A voice came from behind Sam's shoulder, and he turned round to see Thomas standing near him.

"Yes- have you seen her? Or Chris?"

Thomas shrugged. "I think she's off helping Anna upstairs. And Chris is probably in the garage."

"Right. Should I wait here?" Sam gestured to the table.

Thomas shrugged again. "You could do. She might be a while though. Or you could come with me- I've got some errands to run."

Sam thought about it. As much as he wanted to see Annie it'd be a while before he could. And if he was in the kitchen he'd only be in the way. Besides, he wanted to see more of the strange new world he'd ended up in.

"Alright. I'll come with you." He followed Thomas out of the room, hands in pockets. In his pocket a small chunk of stone lay, warm, and pulsing slightly. The key to the portal.

**Hopefully I'll be able to update sooner this time- please don't lose hope!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Sorry for the huge delay in uploading- further maths is a killer. I've also been working on a purely Downton series, but I've finally found the time to sit down and write this one. The next chapter will probably be the last, just as a warning.**

"What the bloody hell has he gone back in time for?" Gene thundered. He stared at the letter in Branson's hands in disbelief. "He could at least've told us he was going to go poncing off on his time-travelling adventures!"

"Maybe he just wanted to get back to Annie and Chris as soon as possible." Branson offered, but was shot down by Gene.

"He could've taken you two with 'im as well! And how the hell has he managed to get there anyway?"

"It says here he found that bit of meteor." O'Brien was looking over Branson's shoulder at the letter with interest. "Says he thinks it's the key to the pothole."

"Portal." Branson corrected.

"Portal, pothole- either way there are bloomin' big holes in the fabric of time! What if we start getting dinosaurs coming through?" Gene paused for a moment, and thought. "Actually, having a T-Rex on the team could be good. He could do Ray's job- they 'ave about the same size brains!" He chuckled to himself, and elbowed O'Brien in the ribs. She rolled her eyes at him.

"What do we do now?" O'Brien asked Gene. This did nothing good for Gene's ego- O'Brien asking him a simple question was followed by the self-assured thought that in a crisis he would be flocked by hordes of women clamouring for his protection. Puffing his chest out he replied grandly.

"Well, it seems like Tyler's got this thing under control- when he brings Annie and Chris back he'll drop you two off wherever you came from."

"Finally. I thought we'd be stuck here." The relief was evident in Branson's voice. Gene narrowed his eyes at him.

"Yes- I was beginning to worry you'd be stuck here too." Gene hurriedly rethought, and turned to O'Brien.

"Not you. You're alright. Just him because he's…" Gene lost inspiration.

"Because I'm not a psychopathic misogynistic drunken racist?" Branson offered helpfully.

"Irish. You're Irish. You're not." He added to O'Brien, just in case she was in any doubt over her own nationality.

Branson shook his head and walked away, muttering something along the lines of 'fascist racist sexist'.

O'Brien eyed Gene warily, thought about making a point, but couldn't be bothered and so turned to the washing-up. She'd barely started when Gene cleared his throat. She turned round, one eyebrow raised. To her surprise Gene was staring sheepishly at the floor, and for the first time since she'd met him he looked slightly unsure of himself.

"It's probably your last day in this time then." He started, still not looking her in the eye.

"Yes, it seems that way." O'Brien wasn't sure what he was getting at.

"So, I was thinking just now, me and you could…" Gene hoped O'Brien would help him out. He got no such luck.

"Yes? We could…" O'Brien's eyebrow was still raised.

"Dinner. At eight. That Italian place round the corner." It was more than an order than an invitation, but Gene didn't wait for an answer. Pausing only to grab a biscuit on his way out, Gene stormed out the door, leaving O'Brien standing by the sink, eyebrow back to its normal level, and mouth forming an 'o'.

. . . . .

"Sam!" Sam turned round. He'd been helping Thomas clean the surprising amount of clock parts in the courtyard, but was interrupted by Annie rushing towards him. Reaching him, she wrapped her arms around him so tight he started choking.

"Annie… can't… breathe." He managed to cough out. Annie hurriedly stepped back, looking abashed.

"Sorry, it's just, I haven't had a chance to properly talk to you, and I just…" she broke off, blinking back tears.

"I don't even know why I'm crying! This is good, isn't it? We can finally get back home, can't we?" she continued, now distinctly red in the face. Thomas grudgingly held out a cloth for her to dry her eyes.

"Of course we can go back. I was just waiting until you were ready to go." Sam patted her on the back, feeling awkward.

"I'm ready now, can we go?"

"How about we find Chris first, yeah?" As much as Sam too wanted to get back home, he wasn't going to leave Chris behind.

"Oh, right, I think he's in the garage. Wait there, I'm going to get changed." Annie remembered she was still wearing dress and apron, and raced back into the house to put her normal clothes back on, barrelling into Daisy on the way.

Daisy dropped the bucket she was carrying, sank onto the step, and put her head in her hands.

. . . . .

"You're late." O'Brien looked up from where she was standing, as Gene finally pulled up outside the restaurant.

"I'm fashionably late." Gene replied arrogantly.

"Flaming rude more like." O'Brien strongly resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"Are we going to stand here all night arguing, or are we actually going to have dinner?" Gene barged into the restaurant rather like a cowboy entering a saloon, and left O'Brien to hurry along in his wake. He slumped down at a table, and waited for O'Brien to do the same. Instead, she stood there, not sitting down.

"I take it you're not going to pull my chair out for me?" She asked.

"Oh you are high and mighty tonight aren't you?" Gene retorted, but rose and pulled her chair out all the same.

"Thank you." O'Brien smirked to herself.

"Are you ready to order?" A waiter had soundlessly appeared by Gene's elbow. He jumped slightly.

"Bloody hell, I've only just sat down!"

"Indeed. I shall come back later then." The waiter disappeared as quickly as he had appeared, clearly disgruntled.

Gene glared down at his menu. "I just realised, I can't speak a word of this poncy language." He clicked his fingers at a passing waiter.

"Oi! Do you do stake here?"

"Stake, sir?" The waiter enquired.

"Yes, stake, real man's food. None of this pasta business!"

"I see sir. I'll see what the kitchens have." He left, leaving Gene being shot angry glares from other diners. O'Brien couldn't help it. She smiled.

. . . . .

The evening was going pretty well, despite the grudges the staff were holding against Gene. O'Brien was more relaxed than she had been since she had entered service, and was even laughing freely, without malice, at the countless stories Gene told her.

The evening was going pretty well, until Tom Branson burst into the restaurant.

**Again, sorry it's short, but the next chapter will be longer, and hopefully up within a week. And also by then I'll be able to write something a bit more romantic between O'Brien and Gene!**


	9. Chapter 9

**I'm so sorry for the delay! It's a terrible excuse but I got a guitar and became obsessed with that (his name is Ben), then discovered when I tried to write I could only think of my guitar (I'm in love) so this chapter took so long to write (I'm ashamed. Shame, shame on me). As a result it's shorter than I wanted it to be, but hopefully this'll keep you guys going until I'm back on top Fanfic form.**

**This chapter is dedicated to all you who've stuck with me all this time- it's cheesy but your support helped me get my act together long enough to write this. Thanks.**

"Oh bloody hell." Gene had noticed Branson, who was yet to notice the couple. He was looking round anxiously though, so it was only a matter of time.

"Right, we're leaving." Gene announced. He stood up, thought better of it, and crouched down under the table, motioning for O'Brien to do the same. He tossed a handful of coins onto the table and then began to make his way towards the kitchen door. O'Brien, with her common sense long since lost, followed suit.

They managed to reach the kitchen without Branson spotting them, so Gene deemed it safe to straighten up and kick the door in. Immediately they were advanced on by angry chefs and waiters, demanding to know the reasons for their intrusion. Never one to sit down and explain, Gene instead pulled out his gun.

"Alright! Listen up you bunch o' poofs. I'm taking this lady hostage, and you would do very well to let me escape out your back door!" For emphasis he grabbed hold of O'Brien's arm roughly and shook her.

"Get your bloody 'ands off me." O'Brien protested.

"Shut up- you're supposed t' be the hostage!"

O'Brien could only shake her head in embarrassment as Gene dragged her to the door. Once at the door he put away the gun and instead pulled out his ID badge.

"I'm police! That was a test! And you all failed miserably you sorry lot of pansies!" With a slightly unorthodox farewell Gene kicked down another door, and ran off to his car, still dragging O'Brien behind him. Just as he pulled away Branson ran back out of the restaurant and spotted them. He tried briefly to run after them, but soon stopped and watched them disappear into the distance.

He was shortly joined by another man, who had also evidently seen Gene and O'Brien's epic escape.

"That was a bit odd. Anyone would think that he didn't want to get rid of you two." Sam wondered what on earth the guv was up to. On reflection, he probably didn't want to know.

Branson sighed. "Should we go after them?".

"It's probably best to leave them to it for now." Sam replied.

. . . . .

"Pop the kettle on, luv." Gene slumped onto the beaten sofa and defiantly put his shoes on the cushions.

"Who do you think I am- your housekeeper?" O'Brien crossed her arms. Gene shrugged in response.

"I thought you were a housekeeper back in the days of old."

"Maid to the lady of the house, actually." O'Brien sniffed.

"What's the difference?" Gene wasn't winding her up- from the look on his face he genuinely didn't know. O'Brien shifted Gene's feet off the sofa then sat herself down in the space.

"Well." She started, then told him.

"Shut up." Gene interrupted just as she started telling him about her long list of duties, and how they were made much harder by the incompetence of the other staff.

"Excuse me?!" O'Brien was indignant.

"You talk too bloody much."

"I don't think you're in a position to-" she was cut off by Gene launching himself on her. Once the initial shock had worn off she came to realise he was… kissing her?! She pushed him off.

"What the bloody hell was that?!" she exclaimed.

"Alright, alright! Don't get yer knickers in a twist."

"Don't bring my underwear into this!" O'Brien glowered. She and Gene glared at each other for all of ten seconds before he began his assault again. O'Brien considered putting up a fight but decided against it. She was strangely enjoying herself. _If Thomas can 'ave his fun with various gentlemen then why can't I?_ she thought.

"Okay. Forget the kettle." Gene detached himself and made his way to the kitchen. He rooted around in a cupboard until he found what he was looking for.

"That's more like it." He grabbed a couple of mugs and made his way back to the sofa, where O'Brien was wondering what on earth had happened to make her behave this way. It must be the time difference she decided. She'd heard tales from other ladies' maids who'd gone on holiday to Europe, or to the colonies, and their mistresses had taken off with foreign gentlemen. Maybe the future was like France in that respect. Whatever the reason, she decided she didn't care all that much.

She cared even less after she and Gene had finished off whatever was in the bottle he'd brought over.

. . . . .

"Alright Guv?" Gene was woken up by a voice that was speaking a lot louder than it should be. And it shouldn't even be speaking, not when his head was pounding the way it was. He blearily opened his eyes and tried to make out who was trying to contact him, while struggling to sit up.

"Chris?" the hazy outline of Chris nodded cheerfully.

_Nah, must still be drunk. Chris is off with the bloody dinosaurs._ Gene thought it best to ignore the phantom and go back to sleep.

"Guv? Guv, wake up!" Chris's voice panicked. "Are you dead?" he asked, unsure as to why Gene had suddenly collapsed back onto the sofa.

"If I was dead I'd be up in heaven having a party and not having to listen to your voice." Gene wondered why this phantom was so persistent.

"Not if you were in hell." Chris was suddenly cheerful again.

"You're in hell." It was the best retort Gene could come up with, but it didn't seem to work somehow. Rather than trying to stand up again he decided the best course of action was to roll onto the floor.

"Ooof!" He didn't know what he'd landed on but it wasn't the floor. It was decidedly squishy though, but oddly bony in some places. _Huh. I got drunk, wrestled with a lion, killed it, and am now using it as a rug._ Gene seemed quite satisfied with that explanation. _Bet Tyler's never done that._

"Er, Guv?"

"'I've slain a lion." Gene mumbled into the lion's mane. Why couldn't Chris applaud his skills like he should be doing?

"Guv, you might want to move." Gene suddenly noticed the lion was still breathing.

"Aaargh!" he scrambled off and looked down to see not a lion but a bedraggled and unconscious O'Brien.

"Bloody hell."

**Apologies again for the wait. Also for the fact I can't write romantic scenes at all. Hey ho. Anyway, feedback is, as always, much appreciated.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Um, so… yeah. It's been a while. I can only apologise. I've been battling a severe Hollyoaks addiction, a jigsaw of sky and writer's block. Only one has been conquered.**

**I hope that those of you amazing people still reading aren't disappointed/livid/nauseous/killed by the delay/chapter/content/weather.**

**On a completely different note, sorry for any historical inaccuracies in language etc. I gave up history (and English for that matter) for cold, hard, numbers. I could write you guys a great equation but instead you're getting another chapter.**

"Where's Tyler then?" Gene finally got round to asking Chris after a round of bacon, two fried eggs and a bowl of coffee with a splash of whiskey added.

"He took Annie home. They were both pretty wiped out." Chris moved the whiskey bottle out of the way as Gene made a grab for it.

"Why aren't you?" Gene briefly thought of fighting Chris for the bottle but decided he couldn't be bothered. He'd wait, and bide his time before striking. Sometime when he wasn't so tired.

"Why am I not home or why am I not wiped out?" Chris was far too awake for Gene's liking.

"Both." Gene picked up the bowl and drank deeply from it.

"Well, Sam wanted you to know the current situation but couldn't come himself and I had four coffees on the way over." Now that he mentioned it he did seem to be buzzing slightly, Gene noticed, and thought about telling him so but found something better to say.

"Four? Know how many's in this bowl?" he asked, leaning in towards Chris and beckoning for him to do the same. "Hundred." He said when Chris shook his head in reply.

"There's not a hundred coffees in there." Chris objected but peered into the bowl just to check. While he was doing this Gene reached over and grabbed the whiskey from the other side of the table, pouring a generous amount into both the bowl and onto the table.

"Hundred and one." Gene announced smugly, taking a drink. Chris knew better than to argue with the guv's maths, especially this early in the morning.

"Guv?" he decided to change the topic instead.

"What?" Gene slammed the now empty bowl down onto the table.

"D'you reckon we should wake her or something?" Chris nodded in the general direction of O'Brien, who was still lying on the floor. She was snoring slightly, and was clutching one of Gene's boots to her chest the same way a small child would a teddy.

"Never wake a sleeping lion." Gene told him. "Shoulda learnt that in the boy Scouts."

"Oh. Right." Chris nodded and was silent for a moment before he spoke again. "Guv?"

"What?" Gene answered gruffly, really wishing he was still asleep.

"She's not a lion." Chris said simply.

"Fine, wake her then. And make some more coffee while you're up." Gene stretched and rose from the table. "Actually, I'll wake her. If you want something doing…" he muttered the last part to himself as he stumbled back over to O'Brien. He stood over her for a moment, wondering how best to wake her up. In the end he settled for wrestling his boot from her arms, which took longer than he expected as the sleeping woman put up quite a bit of resistance. When he finally managed to get it free he staggered backwards and fell over. O'Brien blinked blearily at him as she sat up.

"What're you doing on the floor?" she asked slowly as she woke up.

"I'm not." Gene retorted, hurriedly standing up again and putting his boot on.

"You were." O'Brien said finally. She rubbed her eyes then looked at him expectantly.

"Wha-" Gene started then realised. "Oh, bloody hell. Fine." He held out his hand to help O'Brien to her feet. Once up she brushed down her trousers and surveyed the sight in front of her.

"What happened to you? I can't say you're normally well turned out but this is worse than your usual standards." she asked as she started to fix her hair. Gene wondered two things then- the first was how on earth she had managed to wake up so completely and so suddenly, and the second was how she thought she looked any better than he did. He relayed these thoughts to her.

"Firstly, that's none of your business, and secondly, it's your fault I'm in this state anyway." She brushed past him into the kitchen. Gene thought about arguing but decided she was probably right, so followed her in silence.

"So. Last night." Gene wasn't sure quite what he was going to say but thought he'd better put last night out there anyway, in the hope O'Brien might have something to say on the matter.

"Yes?" unfortunately she just arched an eyebrow at him from across the table.

"What happened last night?" Chris bounded over to the table with more coffee, filling a mug for O'Brien then the bowl after Gene's directions.

"None of your business." Gene said at the same time as O'Brien replied "nothing."

"Oh yeah, Sam said you two'd gone on a date."

"We did not. I was a hostage." O'Brien sniffed at the coffee suspiciously then took a sip.

"No you weren't." Gene glared at his bowl rather than look at her.

"He had a gun." She told Chris, ignoring Gene.

"He has a missus too." Chris said without thinking, then realised what he'd said. "Oh, I'll er, I'll go now." He edged out of eyesight then ran for the door. Neither Gene nor O'Brien noticed.

"You're married?" O'Brien asked coldly. She was equal parts angry and disappointed, but tried not to let either show.

"No I'm not." Gene decided denial was the best way forward.

"Yes you are." O'Brien wasn't having any of it.

"So?" Gene tried to swig his coffee nonchalantly, but this proved too difficult with a bowl so he settled for leaning back in his chair and folding his arms.

"You kissed me." O'Brien crossed her arms too, but stayed bolt upright.

"You kissed me back." Gene said. "You weren't complaining last night."

"That was before I knew you were married." O'Brien said stiffly as she felt a prickling behind her eyes. She rarely cried. But then again, she rarely found a man she liked as much as Gene. She wouldn't go so far as to say it was love, but last night had been… special, she supposed. And now it had been ruined. She felt she was justified in shedding a few tears at this point. But not in front of him.

"I think you should leave." She at least managed to look him in the eye as she said it.

"Fine." Gene practically snarled as he stood up, knocking his chair over in the process. "Women." He grumbled as he stormed to the door, slamming it on his way out. Once he was gone O'Brien slumped forward and laid her head on the table. Then she cried.

**I can't make any promises, but I know what I'm doing. If the next chapter is late out it won't be because of writer's block (but probably something much more sinister.)**


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